


It's a Long Way Down

by Akoia



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Batfamily (DCU), Billy Batson is not Captain Marvel, Found Family, It's explained in the story, knife wound in one chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akoia/pseuds/Akoia
Summary: Billy Batson is just a street rat, scrounging for food to get by. Until he’s caught in a knife fight that leaves him gravely injured and found by Alfred Pennyworth. He’s whisked away from his life on the streets and finds himself trying to maneuver an awkward family life with the constant fear that he’ll be found out by the Batman. No Metas. That’s the rules.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 104





	It's a Long Way Down

It should have just been a simple trip to the city to pick up a few things that he couldn’t get in Gotham. Alfred loaded up the back of the black Bently when he thought he heard soft crying in the alley beside the store. He closed the trunk and considered- _briefly_ \- leaving whoever was making that sound to sort through their own issues. But the thought passed when he realized that the voice was in pain. 

He ducked behind the wall and held up his pocket watch’s mirror, checking the corner for someone who might be trying to rob well-meaning civilians who would come to check on the voice. But found no one waiting. He snapped the watch shut, straightened his tie, and walked into the alley. 

In the back, behind a dumpster was a small child, curled up on his side facing away from Alfred. He wore a pair of tattered blue jeans, ragged shoes, and a dirty red hoodie. A mop of black hair was sticking to his sweaty skin, and he appeared to be holding an injury. 

“Excuse me,” Alfred said, trying not to frighten the child. The boy’s head turned and he looked at Alfred with unfocused blue eyes. Alfred reached over and rolled the boy on his back and gasped when he saw the dark red blood dripping from between the child’s fingers. The puddle of blood that he had been laying was just as worrying. 

He didn’t think. He picked up the boy and ran to the car, dodging one man who walked by him. He opened the passenger seat and placed the boy down with hurried-but careful-movement and buckled him in. He got into the driver’s side and speed off down the highway, cursing at every stoplight that took too long. His eyes kept darting over to the young man who was no longer conscious but was thankfully still breathing. He was white as a sheet. Dark purple circles under his eyes and chapped lips making him look all the more desperate for help. 

He pulled into the emergency room and didn’t stop to turn off the car, pulling the child out with him and running to the door. He yanked it open, already yelling for assistance. A nurse rounded the corner and slammed his hand onto a pager by the door. “Immediate assistance needed in the front. Code Blue.” 

He rushed over and checked the boy’s pulse and opened his eyes, shining light in them. “Come with me,” he said, and as he rushed through the doors several people were rushing toward them with an IV drip and a gurney Alfred relinquished the child into the arms of a woman who placed him down gently then placed a bag valve mask over his face, pumping it then they were wheeled behind the swinging doors, calmly talking to each other in rapid waves. 

The nurse at the front stepped in front of Alfred. “Sir, come with me. We’ll need to alert to police, they’ll need to ask you what happened.” 

“Of course,” Alfred said. He followed the man into a room with comfy padded chairs and a water cooler. He sat down and took a deep breath. When the nurse left him alone, Alfred looked down at his hands. They were covered in blood. So was the front of his suit. He wet his shirt with water and wiped them off until they were mostly cleaned up. 

He pulled out his cell phone. He pressed the first number in his contacts and sent a quick text. _‘Held up in_ _Fawcett. Will return soon.’_ He wrote. Though he wasn’t sure he would be there. He knew that his charge would be worried. But he needed to focus on one thing at a time. 

He felt a momentary pang of guilt in his stomach. He had almost left the child alone to die in a filthy alley, terrified, and covered in his own blood. Would anyone else have looked in on the child? He was probably one of the many homeless orphans that littered the backways of the picturesque city. And the citizens were more than willing to ignore the less fortunate, it wasn’t hard to imagine they’d just continue on their way. ‘None of their business.’ Then the small boy would have died and no one would have noticed until the workers of the grocery store came out to throw the trash away. 

But the boy wasn’t dead so Alfred let the emotion flow away from his mind. Getting worked up wouldn’t help the situation whatsoever. He looked over when he heard his phone beep several times. It was the expected message. Was Alfred alright, where was he, did he need help? Alfred smiled. Bruce really could be such a soft-hearted man. He wrote back that he was fine, but wasn’t sure when he’d make it back. 

The door opened and two police officers stepped in. One, an older man with graying brown hair, and a jaded look on his face. The other, a bright-looking young woman who held a notepad. “Name and address?” The man asked. 

“Alfred Pennyworth,” he answered. “I live and work at 1007 Mountain Drive in Gotham City.” 

“Gotham? You’re a little far from home, why are you here?” 

“There are several ingredients that I needed that can only be bought in Fawcett. I came down from Gotham to get them.” 

“Where’d you find the boy?” The officer asked, taking out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one up. The other officer looked at him unhappily but didn’t say anything. 

“I was putting the groceries in the car when I heard him in the alley. He was behind the dumpster and bleeding. So I brought him here.” 

“Quick work, Jeeves,” the man said, sounding half impressed. “Well, because of you, sounds like the kid is going to make it. It was a close call, his heart stopped beating twice, but the docs sound pretty confident.” 

“Has anyone called his parents yet?” Alfred asked. 

“He doesn’t _have_ parents,” the officer said. “I know this kid. William Joseph Batson. He keeps running from the foster homes we put him in. He wasn’t dealing or doing so we figured he’d found somewhere to live. Guess we were wrong. We put in the call when we were sure it was Batson, but no foster home wants to take him, he’s been a bit of trouble from the beginning. When he wakes up, we’re going to have to put him in juvie.” The man shrugged and put his cigarette out. 

_Jail?_ They were going to take that little boy to _jail_ for this? He remembered when Master Richard had first come to live with them. He told Alfred how his first day in Juvie one of the older children had beat him up. It was no place for children. There was no way he could allow this. That child-William-might have been a stranger, but he couldn’t- _wouldn’t_ stand by and let that happen. But how would he tell Bruce? 

William Joseph Batson. Alfred didn’t believe in providence, but it sure was one hell of a coincidence. 

“A moment,” Alfred said, standing up. “I might have a place for William to stay,” he said. “My employer, Bruce Wayne, he has more than enough room for him and he’s already certified by GCCPS. He’s adopted several children, already.” 

The officer looked at Alfred, blinking impassively before a small smile pulled at his lips. “We’ll need to run background checks first, but sure,” he shrugged again and held the door open for the other officer. “You should stay in the city until we can clear your boss to take him, alright Jeeves.” 

“Right,” Alfred agreed. He took his blood-stained jacket off and threw it over the back of a chair. He bid farewell to both officers and pulled out his phone. Two more text messages from Master Bruce. Alfred knew that it was better to take his medicine. He wasn’t nervous about how Bruce would react. And if Alfred insisted he knew that he would relent. But it was worrying, none the less. 

He dialed Bruce’s number and waited patiently for him to answer. It took one complete ring. 

_“Alfred! Are you alright?!”_ Bruce asked, sounding relieved. 

“Yes, Master Bruce, I am just fine,” he said. “However...I had to make a stop at the emergency room here in Fawcett.” 

_“What?! Alfred-”_

“Not for myself, Master Bruce,” Alfred insisted. “As I was loading the groceries into the car, I heard a call of distress from the alley. Wherein I found a young boy who appeared to be about ten years old. He was bleeding profusely so I took him to the hospital…” Alfred sighed deeply. “I was informed that he would make it, but it was a close call. They said his heart stopped twice…” He let it sink in, letting Bruce think on that for a moment. “I was told that he doesn’t have parents, that he’s been running from foster homes for years. But the officer I spoke to said that since he wasn’t committing any crimes they didn’t care to check in on him…They said since none of the foster homes want to take him they’re going to take him to jail.” 

_“What are you not saying, Alfred?”_ Bruce asked. 

“I think you know, sir,” Alfred said triumphantly. He’d heard Bruce’s voice waver for just a moment. “His name is William Joseph Batson.” 

_“Is it really?”_ Bruce asked with a deep sigh. _“Alright...alright_ fine _what do I need to do?”_

“They said they’d be running a background check on you and I. I’ve been asked to stay in the city until then.” 

_“Alright, I need to tell others. I don't think Damian would take it well if I just..._ showed up _with him."_

“I couldn’t agree more,” Alfred said. He felt a sense of relief. 

_“Then I’ll come to pick you up when the police say it’s alright for you to leave.”_

“Of course, Master Bruce,” Alfred said. They said their goodbyes and Alfred slumped down in his chair. He’d be there for a while, he imagined. 

* * *

Billy woke up in a warm room, covered in a few thick blankets. He looked to his right and saw a heart monitor, an IV drip, and a few other machines that he couldn’t place. Then to his left, he saw an old man sleeping in a chair. The collar of his shirt was stained with blood. Billy remembered that there had been an old man who had picked him up. Had this been the same man who saved him? 

He guessed the man must be, considering he was in a hospital. But a _real_ hospital, not the understaffed clinic where Billy usually went when he got hurt. It had been _different_ this time. Really serious. He’d seen a man with a knife threatening someone and had acted without thinking. And wound up with a few stabs in the midsection. Cap was going to be pissed when he heard. He always thought that Billy was too brash. And it turned out, he was right. 

He couldn’t sit up. He tried, but it _hurt_ to even move slightly, so he looked up at the bright fluorescent lights. It was a bad situation all around because someone was going to call the police and Billy would end up in another home. Or jail. The ten-year-old shifted and hissed when the pain spread through his entire body. He couldn’t get away, couldn’t run away, and it gripped him in ice-cold panic. 

He turned his head when he heard the man sitting beside him mumble. He was waking up, and when he noticed that Billy was awake, his eyes widened. “Goodness,” he said, standing up and coming closer to Billy’s hospital bed. “You gave me quite the fright, young man,” he said. 

Billy felt his cheeks flush. “S-sorry, sir,” he said. He winced at how weak his voice sounded. “Um, thank you, for bringing me here. I’d like to leave now,” he said. 

“I’m sorry, William, but you were very hurt. You were asleep for two days. The nurses say you were stabbed. Can you tell me who did that to you?” 

Billy thought about telling the man. Get one more bad guy off the streets. Protect people. But snitches really did get stitches. And if he told, then he’d be in serious trouble. A knife in the gut would be the least of his problems. So he didn’t say anything. 

“That’s alright,” the old man said with a nice smile. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said holding out his hand. Billy was glad he could manage that much at least. “William-” 

“BIlly,” he corrected. “Please, I _hate_ William,” he said. 

“Billy…” the man said, testing the name out. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he said. Billy suddenly felt nervous, looking at him. “The officers who came to talk to me told me that you don’t have a place to go.” 

Billy shrugged and winced. So he settled on just nodding. “Yeah.” 

“How would you like to come to stay with me?” Alfred asked. “Myself, my employer, and his children. He’s adopted, several children. And if you were interested, he would be more than happy to take you to stay with him as well.” 

“Really?” Billy asked suspiciously. No way. That was too good to be true. 

“Yes, really,” the old man looked like he could see Billy’s hesitation on his face. “If you’d like, we could do it on a trial run. If you don’t like staying with us in Gotham, then we’ll make other arrangements for you. Just two weeks, that’s all I ask.” 

Billy’s eyes widened. Gotham? The place where the huge scary Batman said _no metahumans_ were allowed to be there. Batman would kill him, right? If he found out that Billy was living in his city. But the allure of not worrying about being stabbed, where to sleep, or what to eat was tempting. And...it’d just be two weeks, right? Just fourteen days. He could avoid the Batman for that long, couldn’t he? 

“A-alright,” Billy said, trying to hide under his covers. The old man seemed relieved, his shoulders loosening. 

“I’m glad to hear that, Billy,” Alfred said. “My employer will be here this afternoon to meet you. The doctors said it would be okay to take you with us tomorrow. So long as you don’t do anything too strenuous.” 

“Okay.” Billy wanted to sit up, but once again, the pain in his abdomen kept him from moving more than an inch. He groaned in pain, and Alfred moved to stop him from squirming around. So Billy sat still. While he laid there, he suddenly felt very tired. “‘M kinda tired,” he said. 

“Then rest, I’ll be here when you wake up.” Alfred rested his hand against the bars of Billy’s hospital bed. And that was the last thing Billy saw until he slipped into blissful unconsciousness. 

* * *

Bruce gathered up his kids Damian was the only one in the house and so Bruce video called the rest. Cass was in Hong Kong, Jason was being obstinate and refusing to come home, Dick was still in Bludhaven. Tim was still in Gotham but had his own apartment for when he was caught up in something. 

Bruce looked at the screens and over to Damian who was sitting leisurely in his chair. “I have news,” Bruce started when everyone was present. He was in the cowl, things were just easier for him that way sometimes. Bruce didn’t believe in beating around the bush. “A boy is coming to live here,” He said. “His name is Billy Batson.” 

There were instant responses from all of them. Jason was yelling, Damian was yelling, Dick was yelling-but in a more gloating way. Cass tilted her head curiously to the side. Barbra mumbling a harsh ‘ _here we go again.’_

_Sad blue eyes, they looked at Bruce with suspicion, hesitation, worst of all, fear. “Do you...mean it, mister Wayne?” He’d asked. One wrong word and bruce was worried he’d shatter the boy’s heart._

Bruce held up his hand but wound up having to mute all of their mics because they were ignoring him. "Alfred is bringing him home from the hospital tomorrow. He'll be here in the late afternoon. All of you are welcome to come and meet him. But he's _upstairs_ only. No masks. No capes." Bruce could see Jason rolling his eyes and putting air quotes around his words. Damian and Dick shared a look. Tim shook his head. Did none of them believe him? "I'll tell Alfred to set a place for all of you for dinner...good night." Then he ended the call. 

"That's where you were yesterday," Damian said, sitting in the high backed chair in front of the computer. "You went to go see this boy and still didn't see fit to inform me?" He crossed his arms over his chest and Bruce knew he had done something wrong. Something Damian wasn't easily going to forgive. 

Bruce didn't know what to say to his son who was still looking at him with accusations in his dark green eyes. "I didn't know what to tell you. I met him and knew that I couldn't leave him by himself. But I knew that if you said you didn't want him here, I couldn't bring him." 

"And what if I _don't?"_ Damian snapped.

Bruce winced. "I could find somewhere else for him. I don't...want you to be uncomfortable here in your own home." Bruce looked at his youngest son. "Do you...not want him here?" He asked.

"I don't care," Damian said with a shrug. "But I'm not sharing my room." He gave his father a small smile and that was all it took to ease the tension Bruce carried on his shoulders. "And I suppose it'll be nice to no longer be the youngest." 

"Right," Bruce said with a smile. 


End file.
